


Brother, Sister, Soldier, Scientist

by ryry_peaches



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Bucky Barnes Is A Huge Dork, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Family Fluff, Gen, Sibling Love, kind of? they chose each other as siblings okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 01:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15474939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryry_peaches/pseuds/ryry_peaches
Summary: A twist on your standard "Bucky's first 'I love you' since coming out of cryo" fic; Steve isn't even here, and there is zero romance.  Just 16 hundred words of pure tooth-rotting Bucky & Shuri friendship fluff.





	Brother, Sister, Soldier, Scientist

It totally and completely catches Bucky off-guard.

He’s sitting in the grass with Shuri, practicing plaiting his own hair while she bends over a sketchbook, scribbling numbers and codes around what looks like a suit, though he can’t be sure whose suit it is. Maybe something new for T’Challa?

No one was more surprised than Bucky himself at the rapport that sprung up between him and the princess as he recovered from the cryo and whatever she did to his brain — deprogramming — though it shouldn’t have been surprising at all, really. Shuri doesn’t spend a lot of time with other kids her age, what with being the princess and also a genius prodigy, and while she has a lot of internet friends (internet. Friends. Bucky is still ruminating on that one), she carries the peculiar social habits of a teenager accustomed to being the youngest in any given room.

For his part, Bucky has zero social habits, and, as Shuri herself deigned to not only oversee but personally carry out the brunt of his occupational and physical therapies, he’s picked up on her quirks and habits easily. She’s perhaps the only person in the entire country with whom he feels comfortable; most of the village-y area surrounding his little farm treats him with varying degrees of indifference if not careful kindness, but he doesn’t exactly inspire trust or friendship. He may not be the Soldier anymore, but the impact of who he was runs deep, the stories seeming to have echoed across the nation.

Shuri may have somewhat viewed him as a science project in the beginning, but he’ll take clinical interest over fear any day. And the more time they spent together, working and generally living in proximity, the more of a shine the kid took to him — and he, her. She’s the most intimidatingly smart person he can ever remember meeting, and unlike most of the geniuses he’s met, she’s intent on using her powers for good. Not to mention that that earnest, _I-can-and-will-save-the-world_ energy she exudes reminds him of a certain idealistic little punk from his youth.

He sighs, running his fingers through a tangled mess of hair and smoothing it back out.

Shuri glances up from her sketch, idly pressing the eraser end of the pencil to her temple. “Having trouble?”

He sighs again. “It’s no _use,”_ he grumbles, acutely aware that he’s being immature but not particularly bothered to work on his attitude. “I don’t even know how people with _two_ hands do this. All these twists and tangles — it’s total witchcraft.” Only slightly conscious of the action, he rubs the stump of his left arm, dragging the silk shawl he wears across the somewhat tender skin there. 

“Maybe you should just give up and shave your head,” she says, clearly trying not to laugh at him. She bites her lip.

He gives her as dark a look as he knows how. What a thing to even suggest — parting with his hair? Fucking unlikely. “Give me a break, Princess, please.” He rolls his eyes. “Isn’t there maybe more videos I could watch on that MeTube thing —”

Shuri does laugh now, a sharp sound that rings out into the little meadow. “I love you, Bucky, but _MeTube_ isn’t a thing. The site is called —”

But Bucky suddenly doesn’t care what the site is called. “What did you say?”

She gives him a confused look, brow furrowed. “I said, ‘I love you, but —’”

“You love me?” It feels like his brain is disconnecting from his body, like he’s suddenly floating in the air, watching himself process that. He can’t imagine what his face must look like; he’s sure it’s gone completely blank.

His reaction seems to compound Shuri’s confusion; she’s scanning his face with her eyes, like she can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I’m…sorry?” She says it like a question. 

“No, don’t be, it’s just —” He’s not sure what exactly it just is. Shuri said it so casually, like it’s a common phrase, and he supposes it is; distantly, he remembers standing in a shoddy kitchen, snapping a towel at a scrap of a guy; _“I love ya, Stevie, but you gotta stop gettin’ in scrapes like that.”_

The realization hits him with the memory: “It’s just that no one has said that to me since…since I was just a bit older than you.” He snaps back into his body, feeling weirdly tearful. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” He takes a deep breath, pleased to note that it’s clear, not even a bit shaky. “It just…feels interesting to hear.”

Shuri’s still got her head tilted at him, not quite looking confused anymore, her eyes lit with comprehension, but also what looks dangerously close to sympathy. “I didn’t _not mean anything by it,”_ she says softly. Almost tentatively, she reaches her hand out, letting it hover near his knee. “I do love you — I know I haven’t known you very long, but you’re just about my closest friend. It’s like having another big brother around. A big brother old enough to be my great grandfather,” she finishes, a teasing smile starting to spark back up on the edges of her lips.

“I am not old enough to be your great grandfather,” Bucky bites back automatically, glad that she’s diffused the awkwardness he caused. Then, after a second of mental math: “Oh, shit, I am totally old enough to be your great grandfather. Good God.” 

She laughs again.

“You’re just like my sister,” Bucky says without thinking, shocking the hell out of himself. He hasn’t thought of Rebecca in…who really knows how long. She lives in the locked closet of his brain where he stores most of the shit he’s lost and will never get back, and his family is at the top of the list.

But saying it now doesn’t hurt so bad. Huh.

“You have a sister?” Present-tense, although there’s no way Shuri can think Bucky’s family is still alive. He likes it.

“Rebecca…would you believe our ma was cruel enough to call us Bucky and Becky? She really was so much like you — sharp as a tack and always ready, willing, and completely able to one-up me.” _There’s_ the hurt, but it’s just a little pang in his chest. He can’t conjure up a real clear mental image of Becky, just a fuzzy recollection of her voice.

“James and Rebecca,” Shuri says softly, tasting it. “It probably wasn’t her fault — it’s so easy to one-up you.” Shuri rarely coddles Bucky. It’s one of his favorite things about her; she knows better than anyone how fragile he is, but she stoutly refuses to treat him like glass.

“Is it?” He levels his most perfect faux-serious look at her. “Then you won’t mind one-upping me with your braiding abilities.”

She grins at his un-subtle subject change — there just isn’t much to talk about, he doesn’t remember that much about Rebecca, that’s all — and flips her pencil around in her hand. “If I keep doing it for you, you’ll never learn to do it yourself.” 

“And then you’ll keep doing it for me.” He grins back. “It’s a perfect arrangement.”

She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Perfect for whom?”

“Please? The goats chew on my hair if it’s not pulled up.”

She giggles. “Why is your hair within chewing-range of the goats?”

“Excuse me, I have to bend down to feed them, check their pulses, check them for —”

“I get it!”

“So…you’ll help me?”

“I will help you find one-handed braiding videos on YouTube.”

Bucky pouts.

  


Bucky has been invited to dinner tonight; evidently, T’Challa wants his input on some new international sustainable farming initiative.

He stares at the little mirror in his hut, fussing with the ties on his shawl. If he positions it just right, it’s almost hard to tell he’s missing his arm. Finally, he can’t procrastinate anymore. He smooths back the front of his hair as best he can, checks that the strip of silk he tied back his two tiny plaits with is secure, and heads out.

When he approaches the front door of the palace, T’Challa and Shuri are both standing on the fancy carved steps waiting for him. T’Challa smiles warmly, reaching out a hand to shake firmly, and Bucky can’t help basking in it — not too long ago the King of Wakanda participated in an international manhunt for him, and now they break bread and discuss foreign policy together. Every time Bucky starts to think the world has hit its max cap for crazy shit, it proves him wrong.

“Welcome,” T’Challa says around his gleaming smile, because this guy can smile with all his teeth showing and talk at the same time and not look insane. Which, in Bucky’s opinion, is at least as cool of a superpower as the whole Black Panther thing. “I don’t mean to offend you, James, but…did you plait your own hair?”

Behind him, Shuri giggles, and Bucky shoots her a hearty glare. T’Challa follows his gaze and his eyes light with understanding, and he looks so much younger, sharing his teenage sister’s mirth — they both look so happy that the annoyance that’s flooded him fizzles out immediately. What’s a bit of light teasing between a king, a prodigy, and an ex-assassin?

He does make a mental note, though, to get revenge on Shuri for refusing to do his braids for him tonight. Silly, prank revenge. Like a brother exacting revenge on his little sister.

The way you tease and prank someone you love. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is soooo short, but i am thinking of expanding it into a series to depict more of bucky's "first times" since coming out of the ice. just an idea.
> 
> tumble me at laviebohemianrhapsody.tumblr.com, or tweet me @fourgetregret


End file.
